Kittens and Conmen
by killbothtwins
Summary: Neal finds something adorable in the dumpster; the FBI definitely does not adopt it.
1. Peter

"Well, that was a bust."

Peter sighed as he and Neal exited the newest witness's home. All she could remember about the suspect was that "he might have been wearing a shirt with that guy on it". Neal grinned, happy to be out of his radius, even if it was just to interview old ladies.

"You're just sad she ran out of cookies to go with tea."

He teased, flipping his hat and walking slightly ahead of his partner.

"What, and miss out on the amazing coffee and stale Saltine combo they have back at the office?"

Peter asked, rolling his eyes and quickening his pace to keep up with his sprightly friend.

Neal opened his mouth for another retort, but froze mid-sentence. He stopped, leaving Peter to barely avoid bumping into him in the narrow alleyway.

"What?"

He asked, looking around for anything suspicious.

* * *

"Shh!"

Peter opened his mouth to tell him exactly who needed to shh right now when he heard what Neal must have been listening to all along.

"_Mew. Mew."_

It was a pathetic, wailing sort of meowing coming from a dumpster in the alley.

* * *

Neal, a weird look on his face, approached it cautiously. He opened the lid and peered in, his fancy suit like a sore thumb among the garbage.

"Aww!"

Neal cried suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended between the two of them. Well, the three of them, since Neal was now carrying a tiny kitten in artist's hands, still mewing pitifully.

"Neal, put that down! You don't know where that came from!"

Peter hissed, cautiously shuffling towards his partner.

The conman simply glared and went back to the kitten, petting down it's damp orange fur and talking softly to it.

* * *

Peter, closer now, dared another look. He could almost feel himself melting as he looked upon not one, but two, pleading pairs of blue eyes.

"Peter, we have to take it."

Peter steeled himself, determined not to look at either of them too long.

"Neal, that thing could belong to anyone!"

Neal shook his head sadly and reached back into the bin. He pulled out a grubby cardboard box reading _Free Kittens! _In messy black font, still holding the kitten in the other hand.

* * *

Neal, if he was the cat, Peter was sure he would have been growling by now and was holding the box none too gently.

"When they couldn't get rid of him, they just threw him in the dumpster. We have to take him."

Peter looked back and forth from the dumpster, the box, the kitten, and Neal. The FBI agent threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine! Take the stupid thing!"

Neal beamed, grabbing a cleaner box and placing the kitten inside. There was a flash of orange fur, and there was a kitten back in Neal's arms again.

"Okay."

He said simply, placing it on his shoulder like this was regular and walking away, dropping the box back into the dumpster on his way out.

Peter just followed, shaking his head.

* * *

Along the way, the kitten had gotten a small bath from Neal with a handkerchief and a bottle of water. Although he was determined not to, Peter kept glancing over at the two when they reached a stoplight.

Neal was grinning, although Peter couldn't tell if it was because he suckered Peter into this or because of the small thing sleeping on top of the heater.

Either way, they couldn't take it back to June's and now were on their way back to the FBI offices. Because the witness had been so unhelpful, it looked like they were going to have to go straight back and work overtime for a while until they found a lead.

* * *

Neal seemed okay with it, placing the kitten back on his shoulder and sauntering into the office. The security guys barely looked twice, while the receptionist appeared to be taking a picture and adding tiny, cartoon hearts and a black and white filter .

* * *

Peter struggled not to make a truly awful pun involving Rat Pack and cats, but decided against it when Diana handed him a file, then promptly proceeded to pluck the kitten off Caffrey's shoulder and play with its whiskers.

"What?"

She asked when she caught Peter staring at her.

"I can't like kittens and semi-automatics?"

Peter fought back a smile at that but instead coughed.

Diana turned to Neal, who was standing on like a proud Papa.

"What's his name?"

She asked, running her fingers over the kitten's tiny stub of a tail.

"He doesn't have a name, he found it five minutes ago-"

Peter was interrupted by Neal mid sentence.

"Devore."

Neal announced, glaring at Peter again, as if leaving the cat nameless was an unthinkable act.

"That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard."

All three of them swiveled to look at Agent Blake, who busily typed on his computer and pretended he hadn't said anything.

* * *

Diana cooed over Devore (darn, now he was doing it) as Jones walked up with a file. He handed it to Peter, started to walk away, and then backtracked.

"Do I want to know?"

He asked, watching Diana place a hat Neal had folded out of an old report onto the kitten's head.

"Probably not."

He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

* * *

To Peter's surprise, Neal still had his tiny charge the next day when he walked into the office.

At his questioning gaze, Neal shrugged and told him calmly,

"He doesn't like to be alone."

* * *

Over the next few months, Devore became a permanent fixture around Neal, and the FBI offices. He grew into a beautiful, sleek cat despite all the junk food agents were sneaking to him.

Devore even helped out with a few interviews; kids who didn't trust them enough to tell them exactly where Mommy said she was going after she went to the bank, an old man who had recently lost his wife and had clicked on the "I'm a prince from Nigeria" email, a deaf man who didn't trust his FBI assigned therapist.

The fridge in the break room was always mysteriously stocked with enough milk for a little saucer full, and someone (Peter suspected Jones, the softie) bought a tiny scratching post that sat a sunlit spot.

* * *

Everyone pretty much put off telling Hughes, and they weren't even sure he knew Devore was there until one day. He walked into the office slightly late, looking apologetic, and walked straight up to Neal and Devore, who were paused mid-pet.

"Sorry about this, Caffrey."

He grunted.

Before anyone could get alarmed, a small girl came hurtling through the doors. She squealed, her light up sketchers making a small tap tap on the floor as she sprinted in.

"Grandpa, I thought you were lying about the kiiitttyyyy!"

She squealed, and Hughes was seen escaping into his office.

* * *

Sara Ellis clacked her way into the White Collar division of the FBI. It had been a while since she had seen Neal or Peter, but she needed their help with a stolen Matisse that admittedly had her stumped..

She almost fell down off her navy blue high heels as a small blur darted in front of her. She considered going for her baton, but Agent Diana stepped in front of whatever it was.

"Sorry, Dev."

She murmured, stepping around the shape, which on further inspection, was a cat.

Sarah fought to keep her mouth shut and not look agape at the small orange thing resting next to the bust of Socrates on Neal's desk.

Diana, not seeming startled at all, directed Sara to wait for Neal and Peter, as they were coming any minute now.

"Nice shoes."

She tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, giving the small cat a pet under its chin and leaving Sara to gawk.

* * *

The cat yawned lazily, the small collar around its neck making an almost imperceptible jingling.

Before she could check its tags, maybe figure out why it was here, she heard the familiar arguing that announced Peter and Neal's arrivals.

"All I'm saying is, you didn't have to accuse him of cheating on his girlfriend while she was right there!"

"But he was!"

Sara rolled her eyes as the pair reached her.

"Oh, hey, Sara."

Peter greeted cheerfully, argument seemingly forgotten.

"You can talk to me about the case in the conference room, but first, I have to meet with Hughes."

Peter said, already walking away.

Neal grinned at her, leaning on his desk like there wasn't a small feline laying on it.

"What's up?"

He asked.

"There's a cat on your desk."

She remarked bluntly. He shrugged, leaning down a little. The cat jumped swiftly onto his shoulder.

"This is Devore."

He introduced, tipping his head a little and thus making the cat do so too.

It was _not _adorable, she told herself mentally.

"Okay."

She said instead, grabbing her purse and walking to the conference room.

* * *

Peter still wasn't sure if he liked the cat or not. Everyone else certainly did. And the other day, when he had gone to Neal's house on the early morning to discuss a case, had found the two asleep with the cat resting on Neal's dark curls, both practically purring.

Still, he didn't mind when Dev curled up in the sunniest spot of the place - the chair in Peter's office - and that was something.


	2. Mozzie

"Let me tell you, did you know, even when it's all wrapped up, you can't send a brick in the mail?"

Mozzie tramped into Neal's apartment without further invitation, sadly clutching a thick package with multiple stamps stuck to it (no doubt with glue rather than licking them- he was convinced the government was collecting his saliva).

"It really tells a story about today's government when a man can't even send a brick under a fake name to an address in Britain- Neal? What is that?"

* * *

Neal had been watching his friend rant casually, stroking something on his lap. Mozzie finally got a good look at it before backing away cautiously.

"My cat."

* * *

Neal replied, stroking the ratty thing like this was something people did.

"Moz, why are you making the sign of the cross? You're not even Catholic."

Mozzie glared, first at Neal, then at the little thing purring on his lap. It stretched innocently, obviously trying to lull him into a false sense of security.

"Why do you have that?"  
Mozzie said, not dropping the cross he was making with his hands.

_Mew. Mew. _

The thing wailed pitifully like it was trying to make Mozzie feel guilty.

"Have you checked to make sure it's really a kitten and not some sort of government listening device?"

He asked, as Neal rolled his eyes.

* * *

"I have him because he's my cat. And yes, I took him to the vet to get shots. So I'm pretty sure he's not a robot."

Neal said, having learned long ago that the best way to convince Mozzie was to indulge him.

Mozzie moved a little bit closer to examine it. It was pouncing on a little string on the table now, making tiny growls at the back of his throat. Orange fur stuck up haphazardly from its' recent petting, and blue eyes pierced the space between the two.

* * *

"Whatever."

He grumbled finally, stalking over to the wine rack and selecting a particularly nice one. Sitting down on the opposite side of the table from the cat, he opened it and offered it to Neal, who rewarded him with a smile.

The cat yawned, showing off tiny, sharp teeth and stretched. He meandered over to Mozzie, who sat stock-still until the cat finally just sat down on his lap.

* * *

"Fine, robot cat. Just don't shed."  
Mozzie said finally, placing a hand on the small feline.

* * *

Neal smiled again, brighter, and Mozzie wondered if the first smile really was about the wine. Oh, well.

He could learn to like the robot cat.


	3. Bad Guys

Neal absentmindedly rubbed Devore's soft ears as he scribbled in the latest report. He was bored. With a small yowl, Devore spotted Agent Ruiz walking by and hopped off the desk to go annoy him.

Devore seemed to take special pleasure in antagonizing Ruiz, a trait Neal proudly insisted was not his doing. Neal watched Ruiz almost trip three times and get yelled at once by a clerk who thought he had stepped on Devore's tail before sadly turning back to his desk.

He sighed as he tapped his pen on the desk. Maybe he could take a small break. He hadn't pulled any pranks on Peter yet today…

* * *

Before Neal could go find a way to annoy his handler, he heard a few gasps from the agents around him. Looking up in concern, Neal saw an angry, bulky man waving a gun around. He shouted demands, claiming the FBI had failed to find the painting stolen from his family.

Neal hopped up and approached the man at the same time as Peter did. The two stood side by side in front of the man. Every agent in the room had their guns out, but the room was still too crowded to shoot.

Smiling, Neal sidled up to the man. He used his nicest smile, giving no appearance of nerves whatsoever.

Peter spoke first, his gun trained steadily on the man. "Whatever this is, it's not worth it." He told him sincerely.

Neal agreed, nodding his head.

"Let me tell you, prison is no fun. You could still walk out of here."

He lied, wondering how he had even gotten a gun in in the first place. Later they were probably going to make him do some sort of security check. That would be fun but Peter would probably be angry he didn't tell him about the roof entrance earlier.

He snapped out of his thoughts as the man jerked his gun around dangerously.

"You think I'm stupid? All I wanted was to get my family's paintings back!"

He yelled. Peter tensed, but kept talking.

"How about you let us know the details of your case and I'll look into it personally?"

He suggested.

"Or I could actually get results."

With that statement, the man lightning-fast reached out and grabbed Neal's arm, holding the con-man to him tightly.

"This is how it's gonna work-"

The man sneered, cutting off suddenly when a loud growling was heard echoing through the office. His eyes searched the room quickly, looking for the source. Neal's eyes widened as he realized what it was.

* * *

As the gunman tightened his grip on the trigger, the growling grew louder and louder until an orange blur flew on top of him.

He screamed, trying to get it off while Neal kicked him and wriggled out of his grip. Meanwhile, the cat that had tacked him continued to scratch and bite him, tearing out skin. He yowled like a panther, biting and scratching any unprotected surface. The agents watched open mouthed as Devore's growling suddenly stopped and he jumped down, sniffed delicately, and pranced back over to where Neal was standing.

Somehow the bad guy had made it to the floor, nursing a few hundred cat scratches and a wounded pride. He blubbered about possessed cats as security finally showed up and arrested him. Devore licked his whiskers and settled onto Neal's lap.

* * *

He sniffed and licked the small bruise forming on his owner's wrist, and then fell asleep. Peter, who had stood next to his partner to make sure he was okay, ruffled the cat's fur, much to Neal's delight, and then grumbled affectionately.

"Good cat."


	4. Elizabeth

"So Neal got a cat today."

Peter mentioned in greeting to his wife.

* * *

"What?"  
El stopped suddenly in her dish washing to stare at her husband. He went on with his routine, pulling off his shoes to reveal brightly colored puppy socks underneath, putting down his briefcase, and storing his gun in the safe.

Meanwhile, El had stopped completely.

"What do you mean, Neal got a cat?"

* * *

Peter explained about the stray and then sat down to eat some meatloaf. El honestly forgot about it for a while. Although the image of Neal with an orange kitty purring on his shoulder was adorable, Peter never talked about the cat again and she assumed Neal had found a home for it.

She never had the chance to ask the conman because he wasn't able to make it down to the Burke's, due to a temporary issue with his anklet. When the issue was finally resolved and Neal's leg wouldn't start beeping every time he went near the Burke's, El invited him down for a celebration dinner.

* * *

Peter and Neal turned up from work right on time, with a bottle of wine and...a cat. The cat calmly washed itself on Neal's shoulder as it studiously ignored Satchmo's curious sniffs. El, for her part, simply watched the con man like she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Hey, El."

Neal greeted warmly, giving her a genuine smile and a hug. The cat's tail brushed her face as Neal expertly maneuvered himself so his cat stayed aloft around the hug.

* * *

Elizabeth, consciously keeping herself from gaping, hurried into the kitchen to pick up her casserole while Peter answered the door to Diana and Jones. They all greeted each other, including the cat, and then sat down to eat.

"What's up, Dev?"

Diana said when the cat jumped onto her lap. Elizabeth almost choked on her food. Oh, she was going to kill Peter for not telling her about this.

* * *

When the female FBI agent thought no one was looking, she slipped a small piece of turkey onto her lap.

* * *

After dinner, Peter and Jones, who had insisted on helping wash up, retreated to the kitchen while Neal, Devore, El, and Diana sat on the couch. Neal dragged a loose thread for his cat to play with, petting Satchmo with his foot so that the dog didn't feel left out.

Diana and Elizabeth chatted about Elizabeth's newest event, with Neal chiming in with questions or a roll of his eyes when El talked about a particularly annoying client.

* * *

Jones and Peter exited the kitchen, and Jones took over playing with Devore, whom he seemed quite fond of. Satchmo gave an experimental lick to the cat's face before the orange kitten swatted him lightly, then curled up next to him.

During all of this, Neal smiled like a proud father, and El felt her heart melt.

* * *

Everyone insisted on a Die Hard marathon to end the night, and Devore jumped back onto Neal's lap, where he absentmindedly pet him while simultaneously debating about the best method of entrance in the movie.

At the end of the night and the fifth Die Hard movie (honestly, she didn't know why the FBI agents loved them so much), El found herself the only one awake. Diana had somewhere kicked off her shoes and was resting them on a snoozing Satchmo.

Jones had one leg splayed across Neal and had his head thrown back.

* * *

El really wished she wasn't smushed between Diana and the arm of the couch so that she could get a camera when she caught sight of her husband and his CI. Neal had his head on Peter's shoulder, while Peter had thrown his arms across the conman.

Devore curled contentedly in the space in the warm space between the two. When he noticed El looking at him, he yawned and stretched languidly before pattering his way over to her. Huge, sleepy blue eyes peered at her as she patted her lap. Devore, after a moment of deliberation, curled up in her lap, but not before giving Neal a little lick on the nose.

Warm, purring fur piled into El's lap as she started to drift off.

* * *

Okay, she loved Neal's cat.


	5. Alex

Alex bit back a curse as she banged her leg on one of the overly ornate railings leading up to Caffrey's apartment.

She had considered scoping the place out, maybe stealing a few of the smaller works of art but honestly couldn't bring herself to do it after June, the landlady, had brought her a chocolate croissant while she was waiting for Neal.

She wasn't going soft though. She just liked croissants,okay? Whatever.

* * *

Alex easily picked Caffrey's lock, knowing he had gone out earlier with Peter and some other agents, looking worriedly back towards the house like he had left a small child in there, and also knowing about the extra tumbler Byron, June's husband had installed in the lock to make picking it more difficult. All she needed was a good, dark corner to hide in, maybe some sort of dramatic/embarrassing greeting, and she was set for when Neal came home.

* * *

She shrugged off her shoes for now- obviously she would put them back on before the conman got there- it would ruin her appearance (hey, high heels are awful) while she was decidedly NOT asking for his help.

She just thought it would be easier with him, that's all. She definitely didn't need his help.

* * *

Alex headed towards the wine rack, remembering a certain one the two had shared in Paris that was sure to ruffle his feathers. Instead of reaching the rack, her bare foot brushed something soft and furry.

She stepped back with a soft gasp. What in the world…

* * *

Alex flipped on a light, thoughts of surprising Caffrey gone. She peered curiously at the object, which appeared to be… a cat?

Alex gaped at it while it stretched, finally noticing her from the bright light. It narrowed its eyes at her, almost suspicious. She held up her hands in the universal "no problem" gesture before it finally accepted that she wasn't a threat.

* * *

Weird.

* * *

Maybe he was taking care of it while June was out of town? Or evidence on a case? Because the other option was unthinkable- Caffrey had got himself a stray.

The cat blinked huge, blue eyes up at her that reminded her of someone else. She picked it up. Whatever.

* * *

Neal didn't mention the kicked off shoes with fluffy socks, orange-fur covered sweater, or half empty carton of milk and saucer. He just smiled.

Whatever.


	6. Veterarian

Nurse Sharon eyed the man in front of her, one of her last patients of the day. He was twiddling nervously with some sort of rubber band ball and trying his best not to look nervous.

She sighed.

They didn't warn her about this in veterinary school.

* * *

The man, who was quite stylishly dressed, held onto a cat with an iron grip. The cat was purple.

Sharon rubbed her forehead.

"What happened, Mr…"

She paused, consulting the chart.

"Caffrey?"

The man looked shuffled uncomfortably, almost seeming unused to the feeling. Sharon's insides untwisted, just a little bit. The cat purred, rubbing it's chin against his with a little streak of purple the only thing to show for it.

"Stop, Devore."  
Mr. Caffrey said, halfheartedly pushing it away.

* * *

"I was doing some painting but he was trying to chase a string or something, and just knocked the whole container over and Mozzie said that it was probably poisonous or something but then again he also thinks that Devore is a robot cat…"

He trailed off, scratching the cat behind the ears like he was embarrassed.

Sharon actually managed a tight smile for the first time that shift. She'd had to put down Achilles the dog that evening and she _liked _Achilles the dog, dammit.

The man in front of her- Neal was his first name- her mind supplied- seemed like a father taking his kid to the doctor for the first time as soon as she got a bruise. The cat seemed self-satisfied with the attention, prancing around and leaving tiny paw prints all over.

* * *

Secretly, Sharon thought they were an improvement to the previous decor.

* * *

"If the paint type you put in your report was correct, then Devore should be absolutely fine."  
Neal nodded quickly, affirming.

Devore made a yowling noise before Neal shrugged and put him on his shoulder, slightly wet paint and all.

"So if you just give him a gentle, warm bath before he ingests too much, he should be completely fine."  
She told him, noticing the quick relief in his eyes.

"Thanks for your time. I know it wasn't necessary and everything but I don't know...Just thanks."

Neal flashed an almost blinding smile, balancing his cat on his shoulder so familiarly that she was certain it wasn't the first time.

* * *

Sharon gave an actual heartfelt reply to that one as another, slightly older, man walked in. Sharon had him pegged for a dog person- 'go fetch Timmy from the well' and everything, but didn't kick him out just yet.

Sure enough, the two knew each other.

"I told you your stupid cat would be fine, Neal."

The new man said, although he was obviously teasing. Neal called him out on it, too.

"That's why you let him sit on the Taurus' dashboard even though he was covered in paint?"

Neal stuck his tongue out at him, not dropping the cat as he walked out and even as the other man patted Devore fondly. They both thanked Sharon, and, in a surprising turn of events, both actually remembered her name and the fact that she was there.

"I just didn't want my seats dirty. Besides, I'm pretty sure Diana already bought some dumb organic pet shampoo and last I saw of Jones, he was baking homemade cat treats…"

* * *

About a week later, Sharon and the animal shelter got a rather large canvas but an even bigger donation. The package was addressed to Sharon though, and she couldn't help grinning when she saw it.

* * *

It was a huge painting of an elegant orange kitty (although Sharon could just as easily picture him in purple) with huge blue eyes that screamed mischief. She gasped when she saw it, because as much as it was a cliche cat painting, it was also an amazing work of art.

The back revealed a neat inscription, only scrunched to keep around several purple paw prints.

"Sorry, I was out of purple paint- N and D."

* * *

Sharon hung it on her wall, where it stayed for a long time after that.

* * *

She didn't stop grinning until a new intern, Ian, asked her why she was smiling like that and would she like some coffee or maybe a cup of water?


	7. Firemen

**Based on the prompt by tealrose: "fireman (Devore up a huge tree maybe?)"**

**As always, I appreciate any prompts or reviews! **

"What the heck?"

Alan asked, leaning out the window of the fire truck so far that John pulled him back in. John, with the patience of a long suffering fireman, sighed.

"What, Alan? And if you tell me it's a hot blonde…"

Alan smirked, but his face quickly was obscured as he leaned out the window again.

"Seriously, dude, what is it?"

John asked, once again grasping the fireman's uniform with one hand to yank him back into the fire truck.

"There's a cat stuck up a tree!"

John sighed.

He pulled over.

* * *

John and Alan, who had practically hopped into central park ahead of his friend, stopped when they reached probably the only tree in New York City that a cat could get stuck in.

A very nervous, bald man paced back in forth in front of it, wringing his hands and tapping his foot nervously. When John listened closely, he noticed the foot was subconciously tapping _Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no _in rapid succession Morse code.

Alan grinned widely.

"Hey man, what seems to be the problem?"

The nervous little guy stopped short, staring at him, and, from the tree, a little _meow _came as if to ask if he really was that stupid.

* * *

The little guy- Haversham- continued to pace nervously as the two firemen tried fruitlessly to rescue the disinterested orange kitty now washing itself in the tree.

Haversham looked close to a heart attack.

John heard him mumbling; "Neal is going to kill me. Who takes a cat for a walk anyway? I don't even _like _cats, why did I have to take care of it while the suits are out of town?"

Haversham looked horrified for a second at his own choice of words.

"Suits _and _Neal, yeah. _And."_

* * *

And he resumed pacing.

Alan had purchased a small piece of tuna from a vendor and was using it to attempt to coax the cat down.

"Nice kitty kitty."

He told it, waving the tuna like a peace flag.

The cat yawned.

So while Alan, and even John, had splinters and scratches from the evil cat, Haversham had gone paler, talking about how _he is going to be home any minute. _John, a seasoned firefighter, was frustrated and had cast his jacket aside long ago in favor of movement.

* * *

A cat stuck up a tree might not have been big news in the middle-of-frigging-nowhere-Ohio, where John was from, but this was New York. City of skyscrapers and about three trees. So there were people gathered around.

Haversham's foot tapped faster and faster and John and Alan considered just cutting down the whole tree or shaking it (okay, so it was a little far-fetched- Maple was maybe not the easiest to cut).

* * *

John was close to just giving up when a new, well dressed man joined the crowd. Haversham went completely still. The man strolled casually up to him, whistling with his hands in his pockets.

"What's up Mo-"

The man cut off his statement with a glance at the crowd and grinned in greeting instead.

"Where's Devore?"

He asked.

Haversham started quoting something John thought was Vonnegut, while the man, who Haversham had called Neal, watched in amusement.

* * *

Winding down, Haversham's foot started tapping again. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Polished his glasses. Opened his mouth again.

Neal looked up, although his friend hadn't said anything.

"Oh."

He said, with a smile, spotting the creature in the tree.

"Come on, then!"

He patted his shoulder. With one deft move, the cat leaped gracefully onto his shoulder, digging in claws lightly so as not to damage the suit.

"Thanks for watching him!"

Neal called as he walked away. John and Alan sat down.

Haversham sat next to them quietly.


End file.
